


Nothing Happened

by Anonymous



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Humor, F/M, I'm going to the special hell, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Slavery, Torture, Trauma, also some darker stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:25:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter's captured, but nothing bad happens.At least nothing he wants to talk about.(Check the tags and warnings, Peter's lying about this.)





	1. Chapter 1

Peter lays down covering fire as Groot runs the last of the kids to the escape shuttle. It’s brim-full, barely enough room to fit the kids and Groot on there, and they’ll be lucky if they can get the doors closed with Peter on board.

But it’s a short ride. Peter shoots off another couple of blasts at the slave-raiding ships, and makes a run for it.

He gets about five feet before one of the slavers gets in a lucky shot. Only to the leg, but Peter goes down.

“I am Groot!” Groot calls out in alarm.

Peter groans and tries to stand. No luck. It’ll be days before he can walk any distance on that, let alone run.

And the ships are closing in on the escape shuttle.

“Go!", yells Peter. “Launch! Take this kids!”

“I am Groot!”

“Get them out of here! You can come back for me later!” Peter blasts one of the slave ships that’s come too close to the shuttle. “There’s no time! Go!”

Groot nods, closes the door, and calls out “I am Groot!”, as they take off.

“Thanks,” says Peter.

He ducks behind a ridge and keeps shooting until the shuttle’s out of his range.

He’s hopelessly outgunned, and they’re getting closer. If he tries to take them on single-handedly, he's dead.

He throws away his gun, drops to the ground, and practices his best groans.

One major skill for any space adventurer who wants to survive is acting, and he’s about to show them a top-notch performance of Peter Quill, Lost Innocent Civilian.

—

“This one?” A couple of burly warthog-looking creatures drag him in front of the captain.

She’s violet, visibly female, and if they’d met in a bar under different circumstances, Peter could easily have wasted a good twenty units buying her drinks.

Who was he kidding? Fifty.

She looks Peter up and down. “Interesting. Xandarian?”

Peter nods. He's pretty sure telling slavers he’s a rare exotic species would be a terrible idea.

“Handsome,” she says, running a finger along Peter’s jawline. “He has a certain exotic quality.” She gently touches his hair. “Might be the eyes. He would be wasted as a battle slave. Seems more suited to life as a bedwarmer, possibly after some training. I’ll keep him, at least until his foot heals. We’ll see what he’s worth then. Inject him and bring him to my quarters.” She moves on to the next slave.

Peter stumbles on, dragged by the warthog alien. He tries to tell himself what he’s feeling is relief. He couldn’t have gotten a better position. Unlike battle slaves or engine maintenance slaves, he’s unlikely to be in any danger. Captain’s chambers, with access to the central coms, and plenty of time for his foot to heal up, as he’ll mostly be lying down. And she’s more human-shaped than an Askavarian. She’s actually reasonably hot.

It’s really not that different from when he hooked up with chicks to scam them or get access to records.

It’s not.

It’s really not.

He tries to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.

—

“What’s this?” Peter asks when they inject him.

“Compliance,” says a small blue Kree woman, with a brand across one hand. (This is weird for Peter. He never hated Kree, the way some do, but when you think of Kree and slavery, you think of the raiders. It’s weird to remember Kree also get captured.). “Do what they tell you, and it won’t hurt.”

“And if I don’t?”

The Kree flashes a pained grin. “You don’t want to know.”

—

It turns out being the captain’s bedwarmer involves several hours of waiting while she is out captaining the ship.

Peter is bored out of his mind. Bored, not worried. The fidgety restlessness, the inability to sit still, the constant urge to pick at the scab left by the mystery injection, that’s boredom.

(He makes it bleed twice before forcing himself to leave it alone.)

It’s about ten minute’s careful work to tamper with the coms and set up a tracking signal that will be picked up by the Milano scanners.

He also taps out a message in Morse Code. (He and his friend Billy used to send secret messages between their houses by flashlight, back on Earth).

QUILL HERE. ON SHIP. TRACK TO SIGNAL. SLIGHT INJURY. SAFE.

That should stop them worrying.

There is nothing to worry about.

There isn't a single fucking thing to worry about.

—

After a couple of hours, a woman comes in.

Not the captain, a speckled metallic woman with scales and enough legs that Peter catches himself staring awkwardly while trying to count them.

She gives Peter a nervous glance, then sets down a tray of food.

“Hi,” says Peter. “My name’s Peter. What’s yours?”

“Quitu,” she says. “My function is to bring food and tend to the quarters of all officers. Please inform me of any problems that arise, so I may resolve them quickly. The less stress there is for the captain, the easier it is for both of us.”

“Sure, no sweat,” says Peter. He grabs something off the tray that looks kind of like a large brown grape, and eats it.

Quitu frowns at Peter. “Please, obey her.”

“I won’t do anything to get you in trouble,” Peter says. Damn, what did they do to her to get her so intimidated?

Never mind, Peter’s not going to be on here long enough to find out.

“For your sake,” she says. “Comply. Please.”

Peter nods, trying not to think about the shot.

—

“Hey, sexy,” says Peter. He’s decided to seduce the captain, really lay on the charm.

It makes it feel less weird. If he’s seducing her, he’s in control.

It’s not like...really being a slave or anything.

It’s not like he doesn’t have a choice.

It’s not.

She nods at him. “Remove your clothes.”

“Yeah? You like what you’re seeing?” He kneels on the bed and starts to slowly peel off his shirt, working a bit of a hip wiggle.

“Do it quickly, and no talking.”

“Come on! Relax! I promise, it’ll be a lot more fun.”

Then she taps her wrist and the pain knocks him to the floor. He curls up in a ball, screaming until his voice goes ragged.

“Do what I say,” says the captain. She takes her finger off the wrist. “Obey, and I promise it will be less painful than that.”

Peter uncurls, groaning. He can feel sweat dripping from his face.

The captain grins down at him, wolfishly.

—

Peter complies.

—

Afterward, the captain snuggles up against him in a way that would seem really sweet under different circumstances, and spreads one arm across his chest.

Peter spends a long time staring at the ceiling, trying not to think.

—

“Hello, Peter.” Quitu waves to him.

“What?” Peter looks up. He’s been playing songs in his head. Trying to distract himself. Keep his brain from turning in circles.

There’s too much damn time in this room with nothing to do.

That’s what’s bothering him, boredom.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Quitu gives Peter a concerned look. “I brought food. There is a hot drink.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiles. It feels like an effort. 

“You should clean yourself,” says Quitu. “I will bring you fresh clothing and change the bedding.” She puts a hand on his wrist. “I have seen others in this position. It’s better if you do not smell it during the day.”

Peter nods uncomfortably. She’s trying to help, but the way she’s acting is making him feel worse.

Like she feels sorry for him.

Like he needs to be looked after.

Like something bad happened to him.

“I’m going to go shower,” he says. With his hand on the wall, he can move far enough to get around the captain’s quarter’s.

He takes a hot shower and keeps it up until Quitu has gone away.

When he gets out, the room is clean, there is fresh clothing on the bed, and everything has a slightly fake smell of freshness.

It is better.

It doesn’t smell like her.

—

Peter spends as much time as he can on the Morse Code coms, even though he knows it’s a stupid risk.

(If he doesn’t take stupid risks, he’s got nothing to do but wait around for more of…the same.)

QUILL HERE. ETA TO RESCUE?

ROCKET HERE. TWO DAYS. YOU SAFE?

Peter pauses for a bit, then signals back. YES. SAFE.

WHAT DO THEY HAVE YOU DOING?

SCRUBBING TOILETS. This time there’s no pause.

Because somewhere, back on the Milano, Rocket’s laughing, and not looking at Peter like…

Peter shakes his head. Anyway, Rocket is laughing.

Everything will be okay.

—

Quitu comes in with lunch while Peter is still playing around with the coms.

“What are you doing?”, she asks. “Is it damaged?” She sets down the tray and starts wringing her hands. “Is it necessary to call a tech?”

Peter puts up his hands. “It’s okay. I know what I’m doing. I can put this back together.”

Quitu looks shocked. “Did you learn nothing of what happens if you don’t comply?”

Peter winces. “I know. Believe me, I know. But this is important. I’m signaling for a rescue.”

“Who would rescue us? We’re not in Xandarian territory, and who else would care?”

“The Guardians of the Galaxy, that’s who.”

Quitu’s eyes go even wider. Peter hadn’t thought her fish-like eyes could do that. “You know the Guardians of the Galaxy? The heroes of Xandar who defeated Ronan the Accuser?”

“Yeah,” says Peter. “I may have met one or two of them.” He doesn’t want people to remember Star Lord, Legendary Outlaw, as some guy who was captured, enslaved, locked up in a bedroom, and made to…

Anyway. If there’s one thing you don’t want in this line of work, it’s vulnerabilities. Weaknesses. People thinking you're easily defeated, or worse yet, damaged goods. That’s why Yondu didn’t even mention his history as a Kree battle-slave to Peter for ten years, and when he did one night, while stupidly drunk, he swore Peter to secrecy the next day.

In a complicated-looking move, Quitu drops to her knees. “You mean there is hope?”

“Yes, they’re coming to rescue us.”

She looks up at him, visibly shaking. “You swear this is true?”

“I promise, the Guardians of the Galaxy are coming for us. I radioed them.”

She presses her hands to her face. “You have saved us all!”

—

That afternoon Peter starts doing math. It was never his best subject, even under Yondu’s “You better learn how to calculate, boy, if you don’t want to be stuck on laundry duty forever” approach to teaching.

But he estimates at least a hundred crew members. He doesn’t know how many slaves. They should have a light cargo, since the Guardians of the Galaxy managed to take down several raiding ships and evacuate most of the civilians, but with this class of ship that can be anywhere from two to five hundred.

His friends are good in battle. Incredibly good. If all went well, Gamora _alone_ could slice through this crew like a hot knife through butter.

But with a hundred people, all it takes is one lucky shot.

And slavers fight dirty. Peter’s heard stories of them dumping slaves into space to occupy the rescuers, killing hundreds in order to buy a few minute’s distraction. Or sending battle slaves, either drugged out of their minds or intimidated into compliance, to fight against the very people that rescued them.

Peter picks at the scab again. And this captain knows how get compliance.

He needs a plan. He needs information. He needs something that will give him an edge.

—

“Quitu, I need your help.”

Quitu starts to give him the pitying look again.

“Actually,” says Peter, “It’s the Guardians of the Galaxy that need your help.”

Quitu’s eyes go wide. “They’re really coming?”

“They are,” Peter says. “They’re coming to rescue us, but the more information we can get to them, the better. Anything you can get about entrances, exists, weaponry, number of crew, where they’re keeping people, anything at all. I can transmit it, and they can come in and work efficiently.”

Quitu nods. “Anything I can do to help.”

—

There’s one last problem. The shot. The compliance.

Whatever it is, it gives the captain a lot of power. Peter is going to have to figure it out.

That means he’s going to have to test some limits.

—

“Strip,” she says.

“You first,” Peter answers back.

When he’s braced for it, he lasts nearly a second before he lets out a scream.

—

After that, he does what she tells him to for the rest of the night.

—

She snuggles up beside him, and makes a happy little, “Mmm,” sound. Soon she’s asleep.

Peter stays awake, until he’s sure she’s sound asleep. He picks up her wrist. It’s a thin gold band, internally wired from the look of it. There would be no way to extract it without ripping off a chunk of skin at the least, possibly the whole hand.

If Gamora were here, she’d probably take care of that in a heartbeat. But Peter is more of a thief, and was hoping for something he could pickpocket.

Still, at least he can alert the crew.

—

It turns out to be a long message. Quitu is an intel-gathering genius. These idiots have her changing the sheets and bringing meals all day, and she’s learned everything about this ship.

“I’ve had to tell a few of the others,” Quitu says. “The more reliable ones. They want to help in any way they can.”

“This is a big help,” Peter says. “I’ll share this, and I’ll keep you updated.”

They’re making a plan. Peter’s helping people. And they get to screw over a ship of real rat bastards in the process.

It almost feels normal. Like the life of Peter Quill, awesome space adventurer.

Then Quitu starts stripping the bed, and she looks at stains on the sheets, then give s Peter a pitying look.

He slinks off for a shower.

He ends up showering for a very long time.

—

…AND ADDITIONAL WEAPON LOCKERS ON LEVELS TWO AND FOUR, SECTOR B.

WHERE ARE YOU BEING HELD?, Gamora asks.

Peter pauses and bites his lip before responding. CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS.

He isn’t going to lie about that. Not something so obviously important to getting the hell out of there.

HIGH-VALUE PRISONER, he adds.

ARE YOU BEING INTERROGATED? TORTURED?

Peter catches himself picking at the scab again. NO. I’M FINE.

—

THEY USE A PAIN DEVICE ON THE SLAVES, Peter sends. IT MAKES PEOPLE OBEY. THEY’RE ALL SCARED SHITLESS. ONE CONTROL IS ATTACHED TO THE CAPTAIN’S WRIST. THERE MAY BE OTHERS. THEY’RE INTERNALLY WIRED, SO YOU CAN’T JUST REMOVE THEM.

I WILL CUT OFF THE FILTHY SLAVER HANDS, Drax replies.

He doesn’t ask about Peter. Doesn’t ask if he got the shot as well. Drax is a blunt thinker - very good at solving the problem in front of him, but very bad at spotting the subtle details.

Gamora would have noticed what Peter _wasn’t_ saying immediately. Mantis _probably_ would have. She’s blunt and awkward, but she’s good at seeing what’s on someone’s mind. Rocket’s unpredictable, but he’s sharp and observant at the most inconvenient times.

That’s why Peter saved this information until he had Drax on the line.

He doesn’t need any of his team feeling sorry for him. 

He doesn't need them to think he's weak.

—

CAN YOU ORGANIZE A DISTRACTION? Is the message from Rocket.

WHAT KIND?

TOMORROW, 1000 HOURS, WE ARRIVE. WE NEED THE CREW DISTRACTED. SEE IF YOU CAN ORGANIZE A SLAVE REVOLT OR SOMETHING. MAYBE BLOW UP A DECK.

Peter sighs. Yeah, that sounds like Rocket. When in doubt, blow something up.

Well, time to organize a slave revolt in less than twenty-four hours, and also create explosives out of nothing.

—

“Um, is there any chance that people might be up for fighting back?”

Quitu goes pale. “We have to fight? I thought the Guardians…”

“They are,” says Peter quickly. “They’re coming. They’ll be here tomorrow morning. But the thing is, they’ve only got five of them.”

“I know,” says Quitu. “Gamora, Drax the Destroyer, Star-Lord, Rocket, and Groot.”

Apparently Mantis doesn’t have a reputation yet. “Anyway, anything we can do to keep the slavers distracted will help shift the odds. It doesn’t have to be large scale, but anything we can do to tie up the crew. Um, metaphorically. I mean literally _works_ , but basically anything that keeps them busy and distracted.”

Quitu frowns. “Such as what?”

Peter smiles. “You know the laser knives they keep in the engine room in case the fuel rods start melting into the engine?”

—

Quitu is a genius and should be recruited by several of the smarter planets as a spy, because by dinnertime she’s got the knives secured and distributed to a network of slaves, all trusted by her, who are all supposed to target one crew member each.

There are twenty crew members with the bracelets, and if they get this right, they’ll take them all out.

Peter gets a knife. It’s to take out the captain’s bracelet. Best trick for that will be to slice off her hand, Peter figures. If he tries to peel the thing free, she’ll fight, and he’ll end up killing her anyway.

Not that he would lose sleep over killing her.

Still, Peter’s trying to be one of the good guys, and the good guys don’t kill anyone unless they need to.

He hides the knife behind a chunk of wall panel, and braces himself for that night.

—

Peter doesn’t want to think about what happens that night.

It’s more of the same, anyway.

Not worth thinking about.

—

Eventually it’s over. Peter sits up late, hands on the wall timer.

He’s afraid he’ll fall asleep too soon, but he’s too keyed up to doze off.

—

The captain normally wakes at 0800.

Ten minutes before that, Peter gets the knife out.

He hesitates. He doesn’t like attacking someone who’s helpless, even if Yondu always said that’s the best time to attack. And she’s just lying there, unconscious. It doesn’t _feel_ like the right thing to do.

She wakes up, and sees him holding the knife.

He moves to attack, but she’s touching her wrist, and he’s on the floor and screaming.

She keeps her finger on her wrist. “Turn on me? I should have guessed. I was too soft on you, letting you sleep nice, eat good food, only service one person. Well, I’ve learned my lesson. No more private bedwarmers unless they’re already trained. And you, my dear boy, are going out an airlock.” She leans down and kisses him on the forehead.

Peter’s screaming so hard he thinks he’s damaged something in his throat. He’s never hurt this much in his life. The laser knife is on the ground, a mere foot away, but the pain of reaching for it is unbearable.

Finally, she turns, opens the door, and lets go of the button.

Peter draws a desperate breath, and grabs the knife.

He manages to stab the captain in the ankle.

She lets out a shocked yell and nearly falls. She reaches for the bracelet, but Peter manages to bring the knife up just in time.

He doesn’t take the hand off, but with a clumsy upward jab, he manages to burn a hole that goes clear through and short-circuit the bracelet.

She screams and collapses on the ground. She curls up in a ball around her wounded wrist, whimpering in pain.

 _Good_ , Peter thinks. He rolls over on his back, his hand still clutching the knife.

They lie there, staring at each other, in too much pain to attack.

In the distance, he can hear a siren go off. Running footsteps. And screams.

 _The Rebel Alliance,_ he thinks, as he’s sprawled across the floor.

The heroes are here.

—

It’s Peter who comes up with the plan of stuffing the crew into the holding pens they’ve used for slaves.

The ones that are still alive, anyway.

By the time Peter’s back on his feet, several of the crew are dead.

A few have been literally torn to pieces.

Some of the slaves were killed. About twenty is Quitu’s best estimate. She keeps track of everything.

Peter tries to organize people to target the weapons lockers. There can’t be that much more time left before his friends get here.

He’s organizing a team to take Deck B when he hears an explosion.

—

“Peter!” Gamora runs up to him. She’s stained with a thin layer of blood, none of which is hers.

Gamora sweeps him up in a huge, intense hug.

And that’s fine.

Totally fine.

Just fucking fine.

He’s hugging Gamora. Why would he feel uncomfortable hugging Gamora? Just because some other woman had her arms around him in a way that was…not fun, is no reason to get weird around Gamora.

Gamora feels him tense up, then backs up and gives him a worried look. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, almost convincing himself. “Totally fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

“So we got thirteen slavers in cages, one hundred and eighty-nine slaves wandering around loose, a ship that can’t do jumps, and money enough to keep absolutely none of this going.” Rocket looks up. “What’s the plan, Star-Munch?”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t get that far.” He’d only planned how to get off the ship, but it turns out one of the downsides of having a reputation as a hero of the galaxy is that people expect you to find heroic solutions to everything. And at the moment, everything includes one hundred and eighty nine people from forty-seven different planets who are all trying to get home.

And thirteen injured slavers who Peter figures they probably shouldn’t just _kill_ , but what are they going to do? _Keep_ them?

“If we’ve got too many mouths to feed,” says Rocket, “I know a guy who can take some off our hands. We can make some good money.”

“We’re not selling them back into slavery!” Peter snaps. “We _just_ freed them!”

“Those aren’t the ones I was going to sell,” mutters Rocket.

“What if we kill all of the slavers?” Drax asks. “Would that not solve our problems?”

“Only some of the problems,” says Gamora. “Fewer prisoners, but the people who need to be rescued would remain.”

“And they cost money,” says Rocket. “Why not pay for them by selling the people who took them? Come on, they’re bad guys, so if we do bad things to them, doesn’t it even out?”

“Is there a safe planet where we can leave the people we rescued?” Peter asks. That’s what Yondu did, when they robbed a slave ship. The money went to the Ravagers, the slaves were dropped on the nearest inhabited planet with their freedom, and the slavers were tied to the hull of the ship for a brisk game of “How long can you survive in space without a suit?”

One crew member had asked if they could sell the slaves on for extra money. He’d been crew, so Yondu had left him alive and in one piece.

Well, _technically_ one piece.

“We can’t just leave them,” says Gamora. “We’re responsible. We need to make sure they’re safe.”

“I’m not running all over the galaxy taking each of them home.”

Peter sucks his teeth. “We can’t afford it, anyway. If we don’t get a job soon, we’ll be stuck for fuel.”

“I am Groot!”

“That is a good point.” Gamora looks at Groot. “We’re four days from Xandarian territory. They’ll take the rescued slaves, but we can’t keep the prisoners. Their crime was committed outside Nova Corps jurisdiction. We would have to free them or kill them before we arrived.”

“Then we are agreed,” says Drax. “Kill all of the slavers.”

“I am Groot.”

“Groot’s right,” says Peter. “We don’t kill helpless prisoners. We’re the good guys now! We need a better plan.”

“We have four days to think of a better plan,” Gamora replies.

“I am Groot!”

“Okay, you d’ast softie, we won’t kill any until we’re all agreed.” Rocket shakes his head in disgust. “Not killing people when they can’t fight back. That’s the best time to kill them! They can’t fight back!”

—

Peter ducks off to his bunk, pops on the Zune headphones, and hits shuffle.

He needs a break so bad he can practically taste it.

The song that comes up is by some band he’s never heard of, but it’s good brooding music. “In my eyes, indisposed, in disguises no one knows.”

Peter closes his eyes, cranks up the volume to Really Bad For Your Ears levels, and tunes out.

—

A hand touches Peter’s shoulder. It’s a woman’s hand.

He jumps and yells.

“Peter, it’s me.” Gamora is giving him a look, or possibly even A Look. “I knocked, but you did not seem to hear me.”

“Yeah, sorry. I had my music on pretty loud.”

Gamora’s expression has definitely escalated to A Look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just a bit startled.” He rubs his arm. “What’s up?”

“Quitu wishes to speak with Star Lord. She didn’t seem to realize it was you?”

Yeah, he’s going to have to come up with an explanation for why he didn’t tell her that he was Star Lord. Especially since he tells _everyone_ that he’s Star Lord. Peter stands and sighs. “I was trying to stay undercover. Not let them know they had a high-value prisoner.”

“You said you were held in the Captain’s quarters?”

Crap. He did say that. “Didn’t work. Captain couldn’t figure out what species I was, so she kept me for questioning.”

Gamora gets a worried frown. “She interrogated you? Did she use the pain device?”

“No,” Peter lies. “They didn’t want to try it on my unfamiliar biology. She just kept asking questions. It was nothing.” He smiles. “Anyway, I’ll go see Quitu.” He’ll need to catch her up on the story, before she tells the wrong person the wrong thing.

“She’s with Drax.”

Okay, all he has to do is get to Quitu, and hope she hasn’t said anything to Drax, and then no one will know anything, and it will all be okay.

—

“Quill,” says Drax. “Quitu told me about your captivity.”

Peter braces himself. “I don’t know what she told you.”

“She told me the captain kept you as a pleasure slave and tortured you into compliance, then forced you to commit sexual acts.”

Shit, shit, shit. Peter fights back a sick feeling. “Um, Drax…”, he begins, with no idea what to say next.

Drax looks solemn. “I know your parents are both dead, and you have no family.”

“Are you going somewhere, or is this just List Stuff That Makes Me Feel Like Crap Day?”

“No, is that a Terran holiday?”

“No!”

Drax frowns. “It sounds like a terrible idea for a holiday. I cannot imagine that celebration being enjoyable at all.”

“It’s not…it’s an expression.”

“I see.” Drax is still frowning. “Among my people, if someone is raped, their nearest relative cuts off the offender’s head and presents it to them to keep in their sleeping chamber. That way they can watch the slow decay of the head, and know that the offender is beyond doubt dead and can never harm them again.”

Peter blinks. “You keep _rotting severed heads_ in your bedrooms?”

“It is said to restore health of the mind.”

“It _can’t_ be good for the health of the body. You know how many _germs_ that would have?”

“I do not know. I imagine, a great many. What I wished to say is that I consider you like family and would be honored to take that foul woman’s head off for you.”

“What? No!” Peter shakes his head. “No. Look, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine,” says Drax. “It is unacceptable and she should die for what she did to you.”

And that’s not helping, because Peter’s fine, he’s just fucking _fine_ , and nothing that happened to him was all that bad.

It _can’t_ be that bad. Not if he’s going to hold it together long enough to get everyone to safety.

“No,” he says. “It’s…don’t worry about it.” He catches Drax’s expression. “Don’t…let’s just not talk about this. Not until we’ve got everything sorted out. And don’t tell anyone else.”

“You do not wish me to tell our companions?”

“Exactly. Don’t. Drax.” Peter takes another breath, his voice threatening to crack. “Just do this one thing for me, okay?”

Drax nods. “As you wish. Although if you wish for her decapitation, just say the word.”

“Got it.”

“It would be my honor.”

“Thanks.”

“Is that a request?”

“No!”

“Because sometimes you do not communicate clearly.”

“Drax, please. Don’t tell Ga…anyone what happened, don’t decapitate anyone, and _for the love of God,_ let this conversation be over.”

Drax nods and finally, mercifully, walks away.

—

“Hey, Quitu.” Peter waves. "Can we talk in private?”

She nods and opens a door.

“So, um, I just talked to Drax. You told him stuff about me, and…the captain, and…why she kept me in her quarters.”

Quitu nods. “He seemed shocked.”

“Yeah, I need you to not tell anyone about that.”

“Why not?” Quitu looks confused.

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “Um, you know. If people hear about that, what will they think?”

“They will think the captain was evil for doing that to you.” Quitu still looks confused. “They think that already. She has tortured most of the slaves, although I believe you are the only one she...”

“No.” Peter cuts her off before she say say the next word. “They’ll think I’m weak.”

“That makes no sense. You defeated the one who…”

“Look,” says Peter, cutting her off again. (If she doesn’t say the word, then it doesn’t count, probably.) “Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t tell people, don't talk about it. Just say you don’t know what was going on.” That seems easier than catching her up on the story he’d told the crew.

“As you wish.” Quitu gives him an odd look. “Several of the people on board want to know the plans. They fear being sold back into slavery. I told them I would get assurances from Star Lord himself.”

Peter nods uncomfortably. Hundreds of people are depending on this decision, and he’s the one who has to make it.

He misses the old days when “steal shit, don’t get caught” was all he had to worry about. Who put him in charge again?

…right, Gamora did. He _still_ isn’t quite sure how that happened.

“We’re heading for Xandarian territory. We’re taking all of you. Nova Corps will collect you. They provide help, and can send everyone home.”

Quitu nods. “I knew Star Lord would have a plan.” She smiles. “I should have guessed, by your heroism, who you really are.”

“Thanks. You were pretty heroic yourself.” Seriously heroic. If they weren’t running out of space on the Milano, Peter would be tempted to recruit her for the team.

“Thank you, Star Lord.”


	3. Chapter 3

Peter stumbles in to breakfast, yawning.

No one is there except Mantis. She looks at him.

“It is very early,” she says. “If you need more sleep, there is much time.”

“No, that’s okay.” He shakes his head. He’s not going to try to go back to sleep. Not now, possibly not ever.

Not until the dreams stop.

(He blames Drax for the rotting head. He blames himself for the rest of it, for letting things get to him so much.

He’s had plenty of hook-ups in the past, some which were for practical reasons, a few of which were to get out of trouble. This _should_ really be the same thing.)

“If you want, I could soothe you to sleep.” She reaches up to touch his head.

He grabs her wrist, and she gasps.

Peter jerks his hand away, too late.

“You…” she starts.

“You can’t tell anyone,” says Peter, keeping his voice low. The last thing he needs is Gamora or someone walking in. “What you sensed, you can’t tell anyone.”

“But you…”

“Promise me.” He gives her a hard stare. “Just do it.”

“Why?”

“I.." Damn it, why can't he explain why? "I can’t explain now! Look, just…don’t tell people. If I’m going to get us through this, I need that.”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Good.”

She gives him another quiet stare, then walks away.

It’s not until she leaves that he starts wondering if his _father_ would talk to her like that.

—

“Where’s Rocket?”

“I am Groot.”

“What?” Peter gasps. “Rocket’s alone with the prisoners, and you didn’t _tell_ me?”

“I am Groot.”

“I…look, I’ll head over and do…something. Just tell me next time Rocket tries to do things.”

“I am Groot?”

“ _Any_ kind of thing! Tell me any time Rocket tries to do literally anything.”

—

Rocket is in front of the captain’s cell, playing with a small control unit.

Inside the cell, the captain is letting out a series of pained squeaks.

Peter grabs the controller. “Rocket!”

“I was using that!” Rocket glares.

“What, to torture someone?”

“After what these scumbags _did_ to people? Maybe the worst you had to do was scrub a few toilets, but they gave the slaves these injections. Nanites. Tiny machines, attached to nerve cells. Causes pain without damaging the merchandise. That’s what Queen Bitch here did with her fancy bracelet. It would feel like being burned alive.” Rocket makes a grab for the remote, and almost pulls it out of Peter’s hand. “I don’t like people who stick machines in other people’s bodies and hurt them. So I electrified the floor and made her hop around a bit.” He lets out a low chuckle. “You want a turn?”

Kind of. “No. It’s not right. We’re the good guys. We don’t torture people.”

“I don’t get it,” says Rocket.

“What’s not to get? Torture is wrong. Good guys don’t torture people.”

“But we’re allowed to kill people sometimes, right? We killed Ronan, and even Nova Corps didn’t complain about that. And if it doesn’t disturb the stick up their asses...”

“He was trying to kill everyone on the planet!” Peter’s noticed the look on the captain’s face. She’s focused on the conversation, her eyes darting between Peter and Rocket. And she looks interested, almost smiling.

“So we can kill people if they’re trying to kill people, but we can’t sell someone into slavery for trying to sell someone else into slavery, and we can’t torture someone for torturing someone? That makes no sense.” Rocket shakes his head. “Is this a humie sex thing?”

Peter feels his stomach lurch. “What?”

“You know, you did your humie mating thing with her, and now you’re like protective or something.”

Peter’s not going to puke, he’s not going to puke, he’s not going to _let_ himself puke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That gets a look from the captain. She’s way too interested in this.

“Please, I could smell it on her when we broke you out. I don’t care, I mean your kind obviously has some weird rutting instincts, because why _else_ would you nail an Askavarian? But I’m not letting Queen Bitch get away with torturing people because you got your humie parts wet.”

Peter’s definitely going to be sick. “You don't know what you’re talking about.” He drops the controller and takes off for the head.

—

He doesn’t _actually_ throw up, although he spends an unpleasantly long time bent over the toilet waiting for the feeling to pass.

He thumps his head against the wall a few times, just hard enough to snap him out of it.

Somewhere, in the background, the captain is screaming and Rocket is laughing.

Peter doesn’t try to stop it this time.

—

“So, scrubbing toilets? Is _that_ what we’re calling it now?” She looks somewhat shaken, but it didn’t actually take _that_ long for Rocket to get bored, and she doesn’t seem to have suffered any permanent damage.

Peter doesn’t say anything, just stares at her through the cell door. It’s this thick stuff that feels like glass, but is apparently impossible to shatter without special tools.

He asked Rocket. He also asked about controls that could let her hack the cell door, the com system (if _he’s_ smart enough to do that, _she_ probably is), or build some kind of weapon.

It’s escape-proof, apparently.

There’s no way she can get out.

“You don’t want your friends to know. Not about warming my bed, and not about this.” She very slowly brings her finger to a spot on her wrist.

Peter knows there’s no reason to flinch. All she's reaching for is the raw wound from where he stabbed her and broke her damn bracelet. Someone cut around the skin afterward and took out the internal wiring, so she’s got nothing.

She’s got _nothing_.

Peter flinches anyway.

She smiles in a way that makes him want to beat the smug out of her. “You may have half the cargo convinced you’re the Guardians of the Galaxy, but I know that coat. Ravager, yes? I know a thing or two about Ravagers. They don’t show weakness. Not if they want to live.”

_You want be a Ravager boy? Ravagers don’t cry. Show a soft spot, and that’s where they’ll stick the knife._

_You’re a Ravager, now. You can do any damn thing you want, boy, except for acting **weak**._

“What do you think your friends will do if I tell them the whole story?”

“Drax wants to take your head off,” says Peter. “One word from me and you’re dead.”

“Drax?” She laughs. “Please, like _you_ know Drax the Destroyer. And what do you think Star Lord is going to do when he finds out you stole his name? He seized an Infinity Stone with his bare hand and blasted Ronan the Accuser out of existence. What do you think he’s going to do with a pathetic little nothing like you?”

Peter opens his mouth to answer back, but stops himself. She doesn’t know anything. She can’t do anything. She’s in a cage, and the only thing keeping her alive is Peter trying to be one of the good guys.

He has all the power here.

He turns and starts to walk away.

“Wait,” she says. “I’ll strike a deal.”

“You got nothing.”

“I have your secret.”

Peter stops.

“I know my position. I’m not asking for much. You can keep the cargo if you want. You stole them fair and square. Keep my crew, even. They’re obviously not worth much if they can be knocked over flat by half a dozen Ravagers posing as heroes. All I want is for you to let me go. And then your crew doesn’t hear one thing about what really went on with us. They walk away thinking you’re the big strong captain you want them to think you are. Everybody wins.”

“Forget it.” Plan Drax Cuts Her Head Off is starting to look better and better.

“You’re stubborn, I know. Contrary. Believe me, I remember.” She sounds sickeningly pleased with herself. “I’ll give you a little time to think it over. Consider your options. But if I’m not off this ship before we hit Xandarian territory, everyone knows. Take your time,” she says. “But not too much.”

—

“She’s got her jaws locked down in a smile, but nothing is all right.”

Peter is sitting on his bunk, music cranked, when a hand pokes through the door.

Well, a branch.

Peter pulls the headphones off. Dammit, why can’t he get a break?

“What’s up?”

“I am Groot.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

“I am Groot.”

Peter rubs his face. “No, really. Everything’s fine. I just…it’s been a rough job. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

“I am Groot.” Groot glances down at Peter’s arm.

“I…damn, I didn’t realize.” Peter glances down at the scab. He'd stopped picking at it for a while, but then he took off the coat, and, well…

He grabs a cloth to wipe the blood up. It’s not much, but he didn’t realize he’d been doing it at all.

“I am Groot?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Peter’s aware he’s been saying that a lot, but dammit, he’ll keep on saying it until people stop looking at him like that. “Look, if you see Rocket, tell him I want to talk to him, okay?”

He’s not sure what he’s going to say to Rocket. What might work. But he needs to do _something_ before everyone knows.

…okay, so his crew isn’t the Ravagers. They won’t turn on him the way the crew turned on Yondu because he had too much of a soft spot for Peter. They’ll either think it was no big deal like Rocket did, or…make it too much of a big deal, like Drax.

(And yes, Peter knows that relying on Rocket’s judgement on what is and isn’t a big deal is a terrible idea. But if it comes down to judging which one is being fucked up, Rocket or Drax, he may as well flip a coin.

…or he could talk to Gamora. But then Gamora would _know_ , and for reasons Peter can’t put into words, that would be _literally_ the worst thing in the _universe_.)

“Groot, what do you think I should do? About the slavers?”

“I am Groot.” Groot shrugs.

“Damn, I was hoping you’d have an idea.” Peter looks down.

“I am Groot.” Groot smiles.

“I hope I can think of something, buddy.” Peter slips his jacket on, fighting the urge to scratch at his arm.

—

Gamora is on the bridge, taking apart Peter’s quad-blaster.

She looks up when he walks in. “Hello,” she says, flashing him a nervous-looking smile. “I thought I could clean this for you.”

“Thanks.” Peter nods. “I should have done that myself.” Basic weapon care. Clean and maintain it yourself, every week regular, more if you’ve been in a firefight. If you lose it or break it, no one’s gonna hand you a new one, boy, time to go stealing.

Yondu’s rule. Peter still isn’t sure if that was Yondu was trying to improve his pickpocketing skills, or just getting fed up with him constantly losing things.

“You’ve been busy,” Gamora says, and Peter feels a flicker of guilt, because he hasn’t been busy. He’s been hiding in his room with his headphones on trying not to think about his responsibilities, or the problem he can’t solve.

Or...other things.

Peter catches himself rubbing at his arm. “Um…”

She looks up.

“I was talking to Rocket, and he said the slavers, they injected people with these tiny machines that attach to the nerves and that’s how they hurt people.”

Gamora lets out a shocked hiss.

“You know about those?”

Gamora nods. “Thanos made use of them. Once, when I was twelve, Nebula tried to escape. He injected her, and left it active for twenty minutes. By the end, Nebula was trying to rip her own flesh off with her teeth in order to get them out of her. He made me watch. Then he gave me an injection and told me that if I crossed him, he would do the same to me. It was years before I learned the enhancements to my immune system cleared all nanites automatically.”

 _Right_ , Peter thinks. More on Gamora’s incredibly scary childhood. Every time he thinks he’s starting to understand how bad it was, she comes out with some new horror.

“So, um, do they have any permanent effects?” Peter asks. “Like being in your blood, attached to your nerves, does that do anything to someone?”

Gamora tilts her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know. They are possible to clear from the bloodstream, with proper medical technology. That should prevent any permanent damage.

“Okay, good.” All Peter has to do is get everyone to Nova Corps, and actually tell them what happened, okay, part of what happened, and somehow not have his crew find out, and hope that whatever they use to clean people’s blood doesn’t backfire horribly on humans, or half-Celestial half-humans, and it’s all good.

No sweat. Piece of cake.

Gamora finishes assembling the last component of the quad blaster. “Peter, something is bothering you.”

Peter nods. He glances around, to make sure there’s no one there. “Can I talk to you?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” She sets the blaster aside. “What is it?”

“I…”. Peter sighs. “I don’t know what to do about the slavers. Like you said, the options are free them or kill them, and they’re both terrible plans.”

“They are not good choices.”

“What would you do?” He asks.

“I would kill them,” Gamora says.

Peter lets out another sigh. Of course she would. It’s not actually the worst idea.

But he has certain…standards. Nothing that would impress most people, but they matter to him.

He doesn’t steal anything the owner can’t afford to lose. He doesn’t hurt bystanders or people who aren’t in a fight with him. And he doesn’t kill anyone unless they’re at least threatening to kill someone and there isn’t an easier way to stop them.

“It’s your call, though,” says Gamora. “Star Lord.”

“Why did you pick me?” Peter asks.

“What?”

“You picked me to be in charge. You decided to follow my lead and everyone else trusted you. Why me? You’re smart, you’re a great fighter, you come up with good plans. Why not pick yourself?”

“You have…a quality. People want to follow you.” She gives a lopsided smile. “People follow the assassin Gamora because they’re desperate. They follow Star Lord because they trust him.”

That is true. Peter can’t quite figure out why, but even Rhomann Dey trusted him, when the fate of Xandar was on the line. Something Peter did made Nova Corps trust a pack of escaped criminals to save the galaxy.

Whatever it is, it has to be good enough.

—

“I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker”

Peter’s in the middle of the song when something clicks in his head.

He’s been spending too much time trying to think like Gamora. Fight your way out or let them go, that’s her skill set.

Peter’s got different skills.

People trust him.

That means he can _lie his ass off_.


	4. Chapter 4

"So that’s the plan,” he says, over breakfast. “What do you think?”

“I don’t understand,” says Drax. “We are in Xandarian territory in one more day. Why go deeper into the territory?”

“To convince them the attack happened in their territory! I just explained that!”

“I am Groot!”

“Thank you Groot!”

“I don’t like it,” says Rocket. “Where do we make money?”

“Nova Corps might give us a reward,” Peter says. “Anyway, we’re doing the right thing.”

“How is it the right thing if we’re only _maybe_ getting money?”

“I agree with Peter,” Gamora says. “It will prevent them from preying on innocent people.”

“So would killing them,” says Drax. “What if they escape from prison as we did?”

“Slavers go to the Kiln,” says Gamora.

“We escaped from the Kiln.”

“Yeah, but _these_ morons couldn’t.” Rocket shakes his head. “I rigged the cell with cameras, and none of them have made a decent escape attempt. Queen Bitch seems to be trying to build some kind of com like Quill did, but she makes him look like a frikkin genius in comparison. She hasn’t reached the ship’s coms or rigged up any kind of amplifier, so her little escape signal can barely reach the Milano.”

“You’re letting prisoners build complex electronic devices?” Gamora frowned.

Rocket chuckled. “Don’t worry, if they get close to anything useful, a mysterious power surge will fry their fingers clean off.”

“That would be fortuitous,” says Drax. “Although I find those who deserve bad luck rarely suffer from it. It would be wiser to kill them.”

“Yeah, but Quill wants to play the hero.”

“I am Groot?”

“I was getting to that,” Peter says. “Yeah, the _slavers_ will talk, but if we get everyone we rescued on our side, we’re still in the clear. I mean _of course_ slavers are going to say it wasn’t in Nova jurisdiction! Who are you going to believe, them, or a hundred and eighty-nine innocent victims who all tell the same story?”

Gamora looks at Peter. “They would have to lie consistently.”

“Yeah, but it’s not a complicated lie. We tell them the whole thing ran a few days longer than it did, and the slavers were stupid enough to cut through Xandarian territory.”

Gamora nods. “We pursued them to rescue you, and when they realized they were being pursued by the Guardians of the Galaxy, they panicked and fled the quickest way they could.”

“And no one on the ship even has to know that much. All they have to know is how many days since they were rescued. I’m pretty sure if we ask them to tell a story that screws over the people who hurt them, and helps the people who rescued them, they’ll go for it.”

“I am Groot!”

“I agree,” says Mantis. “This plan solves many problems and avoids unnecessary death.”

Drax frowns. “I would prefer to kill them, especially…”. He stops, and looks at Peter. “Matters I will not discuss. However if you are all agreed, I can accept having them imprisoned.”

“Fine. D’ast soft crew, but fine.” Rocket glares. “But if they try to escape, I kill them all.”

“I am Groot?”

“Good question, Groot. The first step is, we make an announcement,” Peter says. “I’ll talk to Quitu.

—

“So the thing is, jurisdiction. Legally, we’re not allowed to hold them prisoner in Xandarian territory unless they committed the crime there.”

Quitu looks shocked. “But they’re slavers!”

“Yeah, and if they transported slaves through Xandarian territory, and we’d rescued you there, we could hold them until the Nova Corps arrived.”

Quitu frowns. “Could we not tell the Nova Corps that they transported us into Xandarian territory?”

Damn, she is _so much faster_ than him. Maybe Quitu can take over the “hero of the galaxy” gig, and Peter can go back to “moderately naughty space pirate”.

“Yeah. I…”. And then he drops to the floor, screaming.

After what feels like forever, the pain stops.

Almost exactly like being burned alive, Rocket said. Peter curls up and whimpers. Rocket knew what he was talking about.

“That was your first taste,” says a familiar voice over the ship’s intercom. It’s the captain, Queen Bitch herself. “Every time I activate it, the pain will last twice as long. If we reach Xandarian territory, it will switch on permanently. If I am harmed, it will switch on permanently. I’m not sure how long until it burns out your brain completely, but you _will_ all go mad first.”

Peter rolls over and looks at Quitu. She’s curled up in a ball and is making small whimpering noises.

“If you free my crew, and return my ship, I will be generous and let you all out at the nearest non-Xandarian inhabited planet. See if you can persuade those Ravagers passing themselves off as the Guardians of the Galaxy to take the deal. Money usually works on Ravagers. If not, I’m sure there are enough of you to kill them. I’d suggest you hurry, though. If you don’t, then soon you won’t have enough brains left to fight them.”

—

“Peter!” Gamora’s on the coms.

Peter sits up with a pained groan and hits the coms. “Yeah?”

“I heard the message. Did she activate the nanites?”

“Yeah, she did.” Peter bites his lip to stifle another groan. He can deal. He’s a tough space adventurer, and he can handle it.

Knight Rider would probably shrug this shit right off. Get tortured, and two scenes later, be punching the bad guys and making out with the hot chicks. And he sure as Hell wouldn’t get all twitchy and weird just because he’d had to hook up with some evil chick to make an escape work.

Peter needs to get it together.

“I’m coming over. We need a plan.”

“Yeah.”

Peter turns to Quitu. She’s stopped whimpering, and is moving very slowly to pick herself up.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks

“No,” says Quitu. “I feel like I died.”

“I’m pretty sure being dead doesn’t hurt that much. Come on, we need a plan.”

Quitu doesn’t move. “You do not need me.”

“Of course I do,” says Peter. “You’ve been really useful. Come on, the Guardians of the Galaxy need your help!”

“The Guardians of the Galaxy should choose someone more worthy. I appreciate your compassion for a humble slave, Star-Lord, but I fear you don’t see how weak and incapable I am. You should choose someone better.”

Damn, that blast really knocked the confidence out of her. Peter bends down. “Look, you’re super-good at all of this escaping and rescuing and organizing revolts stuff. I don’t know what I would have done back there without you.”

“Really?” Quitu looks up.

“Yeah. Don’t spread this around, but I’m pretty sure you’re smarter than I am.”

“Now you’re exaggerating to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” says Peter. “I’m really not. Look, if I just needed one of the captives, I’d be asking someone else right now. But you’re smart, you’re capable, and I trust you. All of them trust you. Please, help me put an end to this.” He holds out a hand.

She reaches up and takes it. “I will, Star-Lord.”

“You’re my friend. You can call me Peter.”

—

Gamora looks up when Peter brings Quitu in. “Who is this?”

“Quitu,” says Peter. “She’s kind of amazing. She organized pretty much the entire slave revolt.”

Quitu looks nervously around the room. “Star-Lord...Peter, he said I could be useful.”

“I’m sure you can,” says Gamora. “If you are as capable as he says, it is an honor.”

“Truly you must have the soul of a warrior to defeat the filthy slavers,” says Drax. “It will be my pleasure to fight alongside you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Rocket. “Good job, new kid. Now what are we going to do, and how much of it’s going to be namby-pamby crap?”

“I am Groot?”

“Good question,” says Peter. “Rocket, can you jam the signal?”

“No luck. She’s got it so the feedback would melt the brains of everyone with the nanites in them.”

“Okay, definitely not _that_ plan,” says Peter.

“What about cutting the power to the cells?”, asks Gamora.

“Wait,” says Peter. “Wouldn’t that let the prisoners out? Would we have to fight it out all over again?” That wouldn’t be the best plan, but it would beat having his brain melted.

“Rocket,” Gamora asks, “Can you cut the power to just her cell?”

“Take too long,” says Rocket. “It would be complete rewiring. The way it’s set up now, the nearest cut-off point would take out the power on the whole block.”

“We could have people positioned on each end of the cell block with stun weapons, immediately incapacitating them and returning them to the cells as soon as we’ve dragged the captain out of hers,” says Quitu.

Gamora gives Quitu an impressed look. “That is a good plan.”

“I disagree with the plan to stun them,” says Drax. “I think we should kill them all. _Especially_ the captain. It would mean a lot to me if I were able to cut off her head.”

Gamora gives Drax a surprised look, then looks over at Peter.

“I am Groot?” asked Groot, in a confused voice.

Drax shoots Peter a look. “That is due to matters I will not discuss.”

“We don’t need to kill them all,” says Gamora. “The rest of the crew has been compliant and passive. If we kill the captain, the rest of them won’t give us much trouble.”

“I am Groot?” asks Groot. “I am Groot?”

Peter shrugs. “I mean we _tried_ to keep her prisoner.” If she’s dead, this will be _done_ sooner, and that means he can stop thinking about everything that happened sooner.

Yeah, maybe it’s not the heroic thing, but he’s done a lot of being heroic, and he’s tired.

“I am Groot!”

“I agree with Groot,” says Mantis. “We should not kill someone when we do not need to.”

“After what that foul woman did to...various individuals,” Drax says, “I am feeling a need to kill her and cut off her head.”

Gamora gave Peter another look, then turns back to Drax. “We attempted to take her in peacefully and had no luck. If she’s dead, she’s dead, and then you can do what you want with the body.”

“Seriously, Groot, when did you get so squeamish?” Rocket asks. “I’ve seen you kill plenty of times.”

“I am Groot! I am Groot!”

“I don’t see how it’s different,” Rocket replies. “Yeah, maybe she’s not trying to kill us right now, but she’s not a helpless prisoner. She’s threatening to fry the brains of hundreds of people.”

Groot looks at Rocket, then odds. “I am Groot.”

“Is the whole ship going soft?” Rocket shakes his head. “First Quill, then Groot. What’s next, Drax the Destroyer becomes Drax the Giver Of Friendly Hugs?”

Drax folds his arms. “I am capable of both destruction _and_ hugs.

“Fine,” says Rocket. “We’ll kill _one measly person_ , and Groot doesn’t have to look.”

“Sounds good,” says Gamora.

“I agree.” Drax nods.

“It’s a plan,” says Peter.

“I am Groot.”

—

“Here’s the plan. We have three teams. Quitu, Mantis, and Gamora cut the power. Rocket and Groot cover one end of the cell block. Remember, stun people as much as you can get away with. Drax and I will cover the other end.”

“May I cut that foul woman’s head off, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” Drax asks.

“Go for it.” Peter isn’t going to think about why he doesn't feel as vengeful as Drax, or else he’ll start thinking about why it would make _sense_ for him to feel as vengeful as Drax, and that's a bad idea when he's got so much other shit to deal with.

Anyway, he doesn’t feel vengeful. He’d _like_ the captain dead, but, it turns out, he doesn’t care about hurting her or cutting off her head or any of that shit.

He just wants her dead so he can move on and never think about this shit again.

“I see a problem with this plan,” Quitu says.

“So do I.” Gamora nods. “Rocket has the technical skills. He should be the one to cut the power.”

“Okay fine,” says Peter. “Rocket, Mantis, and Quitu cut the power.”

“Wait, you’re separating me and Groot?” Rocket asks.

“I am Groot!”

“No, you’re not old enough! I tell you when you’re old enough!”

“I am Groot!”

“I don’t care! I’m not risking it!” Rocket throws his hands up. “We already made enough mistakes on this d’ast job! I’m not having something go wrong and having you up against that evil frikkin pirate!”

“I am Groot!”

“Look,” Peter says. “We don’t have time. Rocket, Groot, Quitu, cut the power. Drax, you’re with Mantis. Gamora’s with me.”

They’re going to do this, quick and easy, and then they’ll be done.

Done is good.

Done is going to solve this.

Done means he can move the fuck on.

—

“I am Groot!” comes through on the coms.

The power cuts out on the block.

Peter switches his mask on, for night vision, and starts blasting. Beside him, Gamora’s blasting so efficiently that Peter assumes that means she can see in the dark.

At the other end, with Drax and Mantis, Peter can’t tell what’s going on. He’s starting to wish he’d done this differently - Mantis hasn’t got much experience in a fight, and Drax tends to do everything with fists and knives. Rocket could probably clean up here. He likes guns and Peter’s pretty sure raccoons can see in the dark, from how many trash cans they would knock over at night.

Groot would have been fine. This is going down smooth as silk.

Then the captain steps out. Fiddles with something in her hands.

And there’s a horrible familiar burning pain and Peter’s on the floor and screaming.

When it stops, the captain’s standing over him, the mysterious device in one hand, one of Peter’s quad-blasters in the other.

The blaster is pointed at his head.

“I’m going to make this easy,” the Captain says. “I’m taking this one as a hostage. If you try anything, I’ll kill him on the spot, then melt the brain of every slave on the ship until it runs out their ears.” She grabs Peter’s arm and yanks him upright. “If everything goes right, I’ll let him go eventually."

“I vow that I, Gamora, daughter of Thanos, will hunt you down and kill you,” Gamora says. She’s stock-still, and her voice is quiet, but with an edge to it that Peter’s never heard before. “If you don’t your death to be slow and agonizing, let him go.”

The captain laughs. “Right, your Guardians of the Galaxy act. You’re still keeping that up?”

“I am Groot!”

“Yes, you’ve got a baby flora colossi, very impressive. But the Groot isn’t a child. The Rocket would never have left me alive. Gamora wouldn’t be stopped because I took a hostage. And if this was the real Star-Lord,” she pauses, and gives Peter a little kiss on the cheek, “I wouldn’t have been able to make him my bed-warmer.”

The silence that follows feels like a bomb went off. Mantis is giving him a look of pity. Drax is glaring at the captain in fury. Groot looks confused and alarmed. And Gamora...

Peter looks away so he doesn't have to see the expression on her face.

Rocket coughs, and Peter looks at him.

Rocket’s got something in his hand. He catches Peter’s eye and then drops it on the floor, and kicks it towards Peter.

Peter drops hard, fast enough to surprise the captain, rolls to avoid her slightly late blaster-shot, and grabs Rocket’s device. It’s not clear what it is, but he aims the narrow bit towards the captain, and pushes the button.

He hits her just as she aims the blaster and hits him.

She must not know how to work the quad blaster, because the shot that hits Peter is only a stun-blast.

His shot, Rocket’s weapon, makes her drop both devices.

And then Gamora’s on top of her, slicing her to pieces.

The captain’s going down slow, bloody. In a few seconds, she can’t stand. Gamora moves in with the sword and makes more cuts, delaying it, not moving in for the kill.

Making her suffer.

Peter, when the stun wears off, drags himself over to his quad blaster, then fires one shot and kills the captain.

Gamora lets out a scream and slices the captain’s head off.

This is it. She’s dead. They’ve won.

The rest of the slavers are mostly unconscious on the floor. The ones that can move have crawled back into their cells and are trying to look as innocent as possible.

Peter stands up and looks at them. “Okay, everyone else good with being handed over to Nova Corps? Because otherwise, my team still has some anger to work through.”

The slavers all nod.

“And we found you in Nova Corps territory. You were taking a shortcut, and we caught you here. If you can’t remember that, Drax can help you practice your story.” Peter gestured towards Drax, who was carefully lifting the captain's severed head.

Groot starts shoving slavers back into the cells.

This is it. Victory. 

They’ve won.

So why doesn't he feel better?


	5. Chapter 5

“So that’s what happened,” Peter says. 

It was, pretty much. He's only lied a little.

The Nova Corps Denarian is giving him a sympathetic look. “That must have been hard.” She’s young, no one Peter’s ever met before.

This is the first time Peter’s been interviewed as a _witness_ to a crime, instead of a suspect.

Peter rubs the back of his neck. “Lucky I have a loyal crew.”

The Denarian nods, and looks down at her pad. “We have them on multiple counts of assault, murder, kidnapping, slavery, and torture, and your testimony will support that. Did you see any other crimes? Sexual assault, for instance?"

Peter shakes his head. "No, but I didn't see much of what was going on."

"Would you be willing to record official testimony? A recording is legally binding if we can verify your words with the Nova Force.”

“No thanks,” Peter says. The Nova Force senses lies. “If you can just get the nanites cleared out of my blood, I’d like to get back out into space.”

“I understand this must be emotionally difficult for you. We have strong victim support services...”

Right, he’s not _just_ a witness, he’s a _victim_. Now he _really_ wants to get out of here.

“No thanks,” Peter says. “Galaxy to guard, you know.” He gets up. “Am I free to go?”

“Of course you are. I just wanted...”

“Okay, bye.” Peter’s up and moving before she finishes the sentence.

He just wants to get away from all of this.

The trouble is, now that the whole team _knows_ , he doesn’t know where _away_ is anymore.

—

"Your leg has healed up nicely. I'd avoid intensive running if you can, but you should be able to walk around normally. As for the nanites." The Nova Corps medic pulls out an injection gun.

Peter tries not to flinch.

"I'm sorry," the medic says. "I wish there was another way to administer the counteracting agent. I'll be quick."

Peter nods, then looks away and tries not to think as he gets the injection. 

This is different, he reminds himself. This is going to clear that shit out of his blood.

“How long is it going to take?” Peter asks.

“A couple of seconds.” The medic looks at the timepiece. “Yeah, it should be done now. Your blood’s clear.”

“Thanks.” Peter nods. “Um, you guys have confidentiality, right?”

“Of course,” says the medic. “All crime victims have confidentiality.”

There it is, that word again.

“I just don’t want it spread around. It wouldn’t be good for my rep. You know, the mighty Star Lord and all.”

The medic wrinkles his snout. “The mighty Star Lord is supposed to be immune to nanites?”

The mighty Star Lord is supposed to be immune to _everything_. That’s what Yondu taught Peter. To keep your rep, make yourself sound untouchable.

Admitting weakness is death.

“So you can check for...diseases? Like ones you can catch from, um, sex?”

The medic looks blank, and for a moment, Peter thinks he’s not going to catch on, and this conversation is going to be a lot easier.

Then it hits, and the look on the medic’s face makes Peter look away.

Of course the medic put it together. He saw Peter come in with blood full of torture-nanites, alongside a shipload of victims, after having been captured by slavers. What else is he going to assume?

“Of course,” says the medic. “Um, have you reported...”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Peter.

The medic nods. “I can do a quick scan. Non-invasive.” He pulls out a wand-like device and runs it up and down next to Peter. He looks at the results and frowns. “You’re not Xandarian, are you?”

“No.”

“Pink Kree? Sakaran?”

Peter shakes his head. “Terran, more-or-less.” Basically just Terran now. “Close enough to Kree that most Kree medicine works on me.” Not as effectively sometimes, are a couple of painkillers that give him a nasty reaction, but mostly, it seems to work okay.

If he’d had _powers_ still, things would have been a _lot_ different.

The medic frowns, then twiddles some knobs. “Okay, I think it’s set right. It looks like you didn’t catch anything. I can give you a precautionary shot if you like.”

Peter nods. He holds his arm out.

He looks away when the injection gun is pressed into his arm.

He reminds himself to not scratch at the scabs. No matter how weird they feel, no matter how much he itches, no matter how much he thinks there’s something in his blood and he needs to dig it out, he needs to _not_ scratch.

There’s no _reason_ to scratch. And he’s not some crazy person who's going to uncontrollably scratch at his arm because he can't deal with things.

He catches himself as his hand starts to move towards his arm.

“You’re fine physically.” The medic looks him in the eye. “Has anyone talked to you about trauma support?”

Peter shook his head. “I just want to get out of here, man.”

—

“Hey, Quitu, how’s it going?”

Quitu looks up at him and smiles. “Better now. I spoke to Nova Corps. They were very respectful. They said I did well.”

“Good.” Quitu had been damn impressive.

“One of them said that after I had recovered, I might consider Nova Corps.”

Peter smiles. “That’s good to hear. Real good. And that means my team gets one free crime each, right?”

Quitu gets a confused expression.

“I’m joking,” Peter says. He’s sort of joking. But he’d definitely like to have someone on Nova Corps who was inclined to think kindly of them, next time he has to explain whatever it is Rocket did.

Quitu smiles again. “I don’t know if that’s what I want, but I have choices! After being on the ship that long, I’d stopped dreaming of having a future. And now, thanks to you I have choices!”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You are so kind.” Quitu puts a hand on his arm, then takes it away, and gives him an apologetic look.

Peter would swear he didn’t flinch. He’s not _letting_ himself flinch.

Quitu gives him a sympathetic look. “I think things will be better in time. For both of us.”

“Thanks,” says Peter, glancing around. Suddenly, he desperately doesn’t want to be in this conversation anymore. “I’ve got to go."

—

“I am Groot.”

Rocket steps forward. “Groot and Drax and I have been having a talk. Drax explained some things about you and Queen Bitch.”

Peter tenses up.

“Anyway, now I really don’t get why you didn’t want me to hurt her.”

Peter sighs. “It’s…I don’t want to be like her.”

“You kidnap and torture a ship full of people you didn’t tell me about?” Rocket asks.

"No!"

"Then how are you going to be like them?"

“I…I don’t think people start off kidnapping, torturing, and murdering a shipload of innocent people.” And raping people. “I think they start off doing things that _need_ to be done, and, um, then they do things to people they think _deserve_ it? And once they’re used to it, they do it to more people, and they start to like it, and they end up becoming the bad guys?”

“That makes no sense,” Rocket says.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know, I’ll work on on it some more.”

“I am Groot!”

“Anyway,” Rocket says, “If I’d known what I know, I would have said different things than what I said.” He looks down. “If Drax asks, that counts as an apology. So we good?”

“We’re good,” Peter says. He doesn't want to get into feelings with Rocket. He just wants these conversations to stop happening.

If people could stop talking about it, maybe he could forget about it.

“Okay, I have some Nova Corps weapons to admire and totally not steal and create things that happen to coincidentally look the same.”

“I am Groot!” Groot gives Peter a sympathetic look.

“Thanks.” Peter nods. “I’m fine.”

—

"Got your hands bound,  
And your head down  
And your eyes closed  
You look so precious now.”

Peter doesn’t know why he’s listening to that song. It’s a stupid choice. He knows it’s a stupid choice. He knows it’s going to make him feel worse.

But there’s some sort of weird draw he doesn’t understand. He’s been _trying_ to make the feelings go away, get his mind off things, and move on, but it’s making him tired.

And sometimes, even though he doesn't want to think about it, he also wants to think about it and pick at the feelings like a fresh scab.

He has no fucking clue what that means.

Gamora knocks on the door of Peter’s cabin. “Peter, may I come in?”

“Sure.” Peter sits up.

“Drax wanted me to tell you he had the captain’s head, and if you ever want to look at it, and see that she’s still dead, he’ll have it available for you.”

Peter nods. “Thanks. I’ll be taking him up on that one approximately never.”

Gamora sits on the edge of the bed. She starts to reach a hand out to him, and stops. “Peter, I understand some things are difficult to talk about, but you can’t keep secrets like the nanites. It made you vulnerable in combat, and we couldn’t plan for that. You could have been killed.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, sorry, that was stupid. I just…Ravagers don’t show weakness. Not if they can avoid it. You earn your place by being strong, and if you get caught showing weakness, you’ve painted a target on your back.”

“We’re not Ravagers,” Gamora says. “We protect each other. If we know what the vulnerabilities are, then I…we can keep…each other safe.”

Peter nods. To prove he can, to prove he’s _fine_ , he reaches out and gives her hand a squeeze. “I know.”

Gamora looks away. “Everything else she did to you…I can’t imagine how you must feel. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Peter says.

Gamora looks at him, and then nods.

And Peter nearly stop talking, but there are more words inside of him, trying to push their way out. “I don’t want to talk about it, or to think about it, or be reminded of it, but I can’t _stop_! I _nearly_ stop thinking about it for a bit, but then it pops into my head and it's starting all over again! I feel _bad_ , and I don’t know how to fix it. I want this all to go away, I want it to be like it never happed, and I don’t know how to make it happen.”

Gamora nods again. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Me neither.” Peter lets out a defeated sigh.

“I will ask the rest of the crew not to raise the topic around you, unless you bring it up. So you will not have to worry about being reminded. If you want, or need to talk about anything, you can ask. I am here. Mantis is good with emotions.”

“Drax has a rotting severed head he’s convinced is going to fix everything for me,” Peter says. “So if that’s the solution, I’m set!” He smiles a little.

Gamora gives him a matching smile, then shifts back to a serious expression. “I don’t know what would help. If there is anything you can think of that will help, ask me. I think this will take time.”

“Yeah.” Peter lets out another sigh. _Why_ does this shit take time? Why can’t it be like TV where he has some dramatic feelings, gets them out of his system, and everything is okay again? He’d had that vision of his mom when he’d grabbed the Infinity Stone, and that had solved…a little. Not as much as he’d hoped.

Damn it, why are feelings so complicated and terrible?

Gamora gives his hand a squeeze. “If you need time, if you need to show weakness, if you want to talk or not talk, as long as this takes, we are here for you.”

Peter squeezes her hand back. “Thanks.” That is true. Things may be shitty right now, but he isn’t alone. He has people who care about him, and will help him through the shit.

And in a galaxy like this, that counts for a lot.


End file.
